


Ask Me Ask Me Ask Me

by festivalofpudding (berreh)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, Gift Fic, Light Bondage, Light-Hearted, M/M, Sassy Link, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berreh/pseuds/festivalofpudding
Summary: Link needs a few more than two this time, and Rhett is happy to oblige.





	Ask Me Ask Me Ask Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usefulmammal (annabelle_leigh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelle_leigh/gifts).



> Set during GMM#1101. Requested by and written for usefulmammal, with my humble thanks.

_Last out as usual,_ Rhett thought. Not that he minded, really — boss-man leaves last, that’s what his daddy always said — but it would be nice to get home before dark every once in a while. He hefted his backpack and grabbed his keys, switched off the office lights, and called out: “Link! Let’s go, man!” When there was no response, he shouted a little louder: “Link? You in the bathroom? Where you at?”

From the studio came a faint reply: _“I’m in here!”_

Perplexed, Rhett schlepped his load down the darkened hallway and stuck his head around the studio door. All the lights were off except the center PARcan, pointed down at the main set; in its circle of pale fluorescent light stood Link, leaning on his good shoulder against one of the pulley rigs, arms and ankles crossed like he was chilling out waiting for a bus.

“Why didn’t they strike that thing?” Rhett said. “We got three taste tests to shoot tomorrow.”

“I got this one back out.”

“Why?”

“Cause I was thinking.”

He straightened and grabbed the top bar, pulling himself a few inches off the floor like he’d done over and over during the segment. He grinned at Rhett, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You know what I was thinking?”

Rhett’s backpack thumped to the floor. He shoved his keys in his pocket with one hand and ran the other through his beard.

“They could see what you were thinking from space, dude.”

“Yeah?”

Link did another half-pull-up, sticking his feet out like a kid on a see-saw, and waggled his tongue across his lower lip. He let his feet drop and stood poised on his tiptoes, tightening his grip to keep his arms and shoulders flexed. His t-shirt had hiked up just enough to bare a strip of white belly and the band of his blue Hanes undies; his jeans did nothing to hide the still-soft curve already swelling behind the dark denim.

“How bout you?” he said. “Can you see what I’m thinkin?”

Rhett drew a knuckle across his mouth. “We ought to be getting home, Link.”

“Why? You got a hot date? It’s bad enough I lost the game — this thing’s going into storage and I never even got to play with it.” He slid his fists together until they met above his head, hiking up his shirt a little more. “Come play with me, Rhett.”

Rhett bit his lip. It was getting late, and he hadn’t had dinner, but neither of those facts seemed to matter much when compared with the sight of Link standing in the literal spotlight, blatantly offering himself for what had been on both their minds all day. The fact was that Rhett knew exactly what Link was thinking, what he’d been thinking since the minute the crew first put those pulley rigs together: they were perfect, from the height and width to the load strength and the position of the D-ring anchors. Link had moved this one into just the right lighting, cleared the space around it, and removed the pulley and cord — but a safety hook still dangled from the latch, and off to one side, just visible in the shadows behind him, was his favorite padded knee bench.

“The cuffs are in the desk,” Link said.

Rhett walked forward and peered at the rig, rubbing his beard. He glanced at the feet (both properly braced) and then at the joints (all securely reinforced).

“What makes you think you get the cuffs? You lost, brother-man. Losers don’t get prizes.”

Link smiled sweetly. “But you won. You get the prize.”

“Oh, _please_.” Rhett rolled his eyes and reached up to jiggle the bar. The anchor was secure, the safety hook correctly attached; the chain clasp that connected to the cuffs dangled ready and waiting from the latch. 

“Someone’s mighty sure of themselves. Why didn’t just you just cuff yourself while you were at it?”

“Cause I like it when you do it.“ Link hadn’t moved — he was still grasping the bar with both hands, his weight braced evenly on both feet to take the strain off his shoulders. Rhett moved to stand behind him, reached around his body to tug on the clasp dangling between his fists, and he began to shift from one foot to the other.

“C’mon, get the cuffs.”

Rhett bent to brush his beard against Link’s ear. “Mayyyyybe.”

Before he could reply, Rhett smacked him on the ass. Link’s fingers twitched on the bar, and he bit his lip to stifle the noise he made; Rhett smacked him again and he nearly lost his grip.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, bo. How can we play if you can’t even hold on?”

Link pushed his hips back against Rhett’s thighs, squirming. “C’monnnnn, Rhett, don’t leave me hangin.”

His jeans left nothing to the imagination now, but Rhett resisted the urge to grab those hips with both hands and instead stepped away with a shrug. “Sorry, can’t. You didn’t ask. Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?”

He cupped a hand to his ear and tilted his head, eyebrows arched, waiting.

Link leaned as far forward as his arms would allow, batting his eyes. “Would you please get my cuffs, Rhett?”

“Well, shoot, of course I will, Link! All you had to do was ask.”

He reached out and plucked the glasses from Link’s face, then put them on and strolled over to the desk. He unlocked the bottom left drawer and fished the cuffs from their hiding place in the back. That’s where the purple set lived — the blue pair lived at home, the plaid set in Link’s suitcase, but the purple pair always stayed here. These were Link’s favorite cuffs, and he kept them in his favorite place: the place where he sat next to Rhett each morning, side by side behind the piece of furniture that defined who they were, a secret locked away at their feet while they smiled into the camera and touched knees when no one was looking.

By the time he left Link’s glasses on a coaster and made his way back to the rig, Link had already toed out of his shoes and kicked them off into the shadows.

“Nice socks,” Rhett said.

“Sexy, right?” Link wiggled his toes, distorting the black and orange Rebel Alliance pattern.

“Totally.”

Rhett unbuckled the cuffs and moved behind Link to slip them around his wrists. They clasped easily to the anchor and settled into place. Made of heavy black leather with silver buckles, lined with a thick layer of soft purple padding, they kept Link’s hands pinned together above his head, but nothing more — he would have to hold on himself. When the last buckle clinked into its well-worn notch, Rhett slid his arms around Link’s waist and drew him close, bending to whisper into his ear.

“What’s your word?”

“Coconut.”

Rhett kissed him, a chaste peck on the cheek, and reached down to unzip his jeans. One good tug and they dropped to the floor, leaving Link in his black t-shirt and dark blue Hanes. Rhett kicked the jeans aside and finally got his hands on Link’s ass — not a smack, just copping a quick feel. Link jiggled his cheeks one at a time until Rhett laughed and let go. He was moving his wrists inside the cuffs — testing them, feeling them on his skin, listening to the soft clink of silver and faint creak of leather. Rhett felt the tension leaving him in waves with every breath, like a slow tide at sunset ebbing back from the rocks. Rhett smiled too.

“They feel OK?”

“Perfect.” His eyes had closed, but now he opened them and turned his head to look at Rhett. “You’re better at this than you think.”

Rhett smirked to hide the faint heat in his cheeks, and before Link’s grin could get any saucier he gave his ass a smack hard enough to turn that grin into a dropped jaw and a soft grunt. Link bit his lip, toes curling in his socks, and when he exhaled Rhett slapped the other cheek. Link’s dick twitched in his Hanes and the cuffs creaked as his grip tightened on the steel bar. He was flushed now, and breathing hard, but his eyes were wide and bright — crystal-clear blue, not dulled with the heavy glaze they wore when he was drifting off into his own world. All of Link was here, and all of Link was smiling.

“Way better,” he said, a little breathless now.

Rhett slipped his hand beneath the soft blue fabric, just enough to drag his nails lightly across still-smarting skin. Link’s knees buckled and he nearly swore, but he didn’t let go of the bar. Rhett’s hand slid around his hip and took hold of him, one slow stroke from root to head, just enough to get a good loud moan out of him. Then he let go and walked away.

“Hey! That was just getting good.”

Rhett did not reply. He went over to the desk, pausing to adjust himself in his jeans before bending once more to the bottom drawer. Behind the box where Link’s cuffs lived was a small bag made of crimson velveteen, tied closed with a gold-colored drawstring. When Link saw it, his fake pout vanished.

“OK?” Rhett said.

“Heck yeah,” said Link, as if his face wasn’t answer enough. His hard-on was already so huge it looked painful, and Rhett doubted he’d be able to draw this out. But that was OK — sometimes short and sweet was just as fun.

He untied the drawstring and opened the bag to pull out the wooden paddle. It was the size of a hairbrush, small and discreet, made of dark-stained walnut. The handle fit in Rhett’s hand as if it had been made for him, which of course, it had been. He sauntered over to Link, tapping the paddle against his palm.

“How many?”

“Two.”

“That’s it?”

Link grinned. “Two and then you.”

Rhett shoved the paddle in his jeans pocket and fetched the bench, which was just a gardening chair with a wide cushioned seat. The crew used it as a step-stool or for support while building things, but its soft padding and adjustable height made it perfect for a variety of interesting applications. Rhett held Link steady until they got him up and kneeling, knees spread and safely braced on the soft padding, arms bent as he gripped the bar overhead. Now his hips were even with Rhett’s, tilted at the perfect angle. He caught Rhett staring and wiggled his ass, then stuck out his tongue.

“You’re asking for it,” Rhett warned.

“Ya think?”

Link wiggled again, pulling faces until he saw Rhett slip the paddle from his pocket. He had just enough time to brace for impact before the polished walnut smacked the thickest curve of his right cheek and his yelp echoed through the empty studio. Rhett held the paddle down, pressed just a little — not enough to bruise, they had work the next day, just enough to make sure the aftershocks stuck. Link gasped and clutched the bar until the cuffs rattled and clinked against the steel. His shoulders flexed beneath his black t-shirt, and a bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck when he exhaled and dropped his head. Rhett drew the paddle away.

“One.”

Link raised his head — bright smile, closed eyes, face tilted up into the light.

“One.”

Rhett cupped his hand against soft blue cotton, hot against his palm, faint throb in time with Link’s racing heart. His thumb moved in a slow circle, light and soothing, until Link shivered and sighed. He slipped his hand beneath the fabric and slid it over the curve of one hipbone and into warm hair for another slow stroke, smooth and hot in his hands, slick moisture on his fingertips. Not long now. He let Link go and slipped the waistband back into place. Link bit his lip and waited.

The second stroke came down in just the right spot, not too hard, just enough for a good loud smack and a jolt that ran through Link like a wave from top to toe. His dick jerked in its blue cotton restraints and his grip shook on the bar, the buckles on the cuffs jingling, his pained yelp morphing into a giddy laugh.

“Two,” said Rhett.

Link’s laugh skittered out in a long giggling exhale. His shoulders had dropped, his body soft and hard together, tense lines morphed and melted into easy, unconscious grace.

“Two.”

Rhett shoved the paddle in his jeans and grabbed Link’s Hanes with both hands to jerk the dark blue cotton to his knees. His pale skin was striped now with pink, thicker for paddle stripes, thinner for fingerprints. Rhett leaned over and blew a single soft breath across that skin, cool air over hot flesh, and smiled at the noise Link made. He blew again and Link shuddered, giggling, and squeaked, “Stop! Stoppp! That tickles!”

“I know.” Rhett drew his fingertips across one stripe, light as a feather, and felt the gooseflesh rise at his touch.

“Now you,” Link said, high and breathless.

Rhett’s hands shook as he shucked his clothes until he stood naked in his socks — and then abruptly he realized that they were missing something. He looked down at his palm, but before he could spit in it he saw Link turn and shake his head.

“Dude, no, gross,” he gasped. “My jeans—”

Rhett snatched up the abandoned jeans and dug through the pockets until his hand closed on a small capped tube. _Lord bless him,_ he thought as he flipped the cap and squirted a glob of cool gel into his palm. He tossed the tube aside and got in a few good strokes before he braced his feet behind the bench and wrapped an arm around Link’s torso. His dry hand spread flat on Link’s belly, his wet one guided the way, until Link pushed backward with a groan and he bit his lip against a muffled grunt. He knew this would go fast, and he didn’t care — he reached his lubed hand around to make it go even faster, waiting for the buck and the jerk, the clench and the pulse, the tightening balls, the unguarded yelp that bounced off the studio ceiling. He wanted the feeling of Link slack and boneless in his arms, the feeling of holding him up, keeping him safe, and the instant he did he pressed his forehead to Link’s back and heard his own voice vibrate through Link’s body with the last thrust. His back twinged and he ignored it, ignored everything, until he felt Link stir in his arms and knew it was safe to let him go.

Rhett reached up to unhook the cuffs and slip them free of the latch. Link’s arms fell to his waist, still bound at the wrists, and he plopped down on his ass and slumped warm and damp against Rhett’s side. Rhett straddled the bench to sit behind him, scooping him in, and they caught their breath together in the PARcan light.

“You OK?” Rhett asked.

Link glanced down at the stool’s green nylon padding cover. “We can clean this thing, right?”

“We’re taking it home." Rhett stretched out a foot to poke the rig’s side with one toe. “And this thing too.”

Link laughed, a soft sound that thrummed against Rhett’s chest. He held up his wrists and said, “But not these. These stay here.”

“Well, duh.”

He undid the buckles as gently as he could and slipped the cuffs off Link’s wrists. Link flexed his hands a few times, but the skin where the cuffs had been was unmarked by anything except a few drops of sweat.

“I’m impressed,” Rhett said. “I thought sure you’d let go. But look at you — not a mark on you.”

“Not on my hands, anyway.” He shifted on the bench and hitched a little breath at the sting.

“I didn’t go too hard, did I?”

“Nope. Just right. I told you, man — you’re better at this than you think.” He twisted in Rhett’s arms, leaned his head back just enough to find Rhett’s mouth and give him a short, soft kiss. Against his beard he said, “Thanks for playing.”

Rhett rolled his eyes, but he drew Link to his chest again and pressed a kiss on the side of Link’s neck. He slid his hands down Link’s arms and took his wrists in both hands, his fingers covering the warm place where the leather had been.

“All you have to do is ask,” he said.


End file.
